Something Else
by theglamourfades
Summary: When he saw her again, fresh off a train in a country neither of them had been before, everything was different. (Scarletvision, Post Civil War, pre Infinity War.)


**A/N: My first ScarletVision/Marvel fanfic (which started life in the notes section of my phone...)! After _Infinity War_ I fell hard and fast for ScarletVision - they're so pure and precious, and they deserve so much better, goddamnit (and I don't trust the MCU to make things good again...). So here is some post _Civil War_ /pre _Infinity War_ gap-filling fluff. **

**I hope you enjoy, and I would love to hear your thoughts :)**

* * *

 _Something Else_

She had changed.

When he first saw her again, her hair was flame. Not the colour of his natural skin, but somewhere fairly close on the spectrum. He stared at her from afar before daring to approach, felt himself fill up with the intense feeling that always accompanied thoughts of her, memories that were stored away in the limitless depths of his consciousness.

This version of the feeling was different, however. It was so strong that he considered it might shut his systems down completely.

He had to assure her several times that he was who he said he was. He could understand her suspicion well, even if it set a hollow sensation yawning within his upper body. It was when he offered his hand cautiously to her, stretching out pale fingers that he was still becoming accustomed to himself, that her opinion changed. She reached her own out tentatively in response, and the gasp that came from her throat when their palms met left him overwhelmed.

" _Vizh."_

The smile that burst upon her face was one he had not seen before, lighting her eyes that he had registered previously as being weary and shadowed. Her whole demeanour transformed as she wrapped her fingers tighter around his. The multiple rings that were so customary to her were missing upon her hands, a solitary survivor remaining on her right, the warm metal pressing against his illusory skin. The corporeal sensation made him feel what he thought to be serenity, much more than merely _content_.

That smile beamed up like a beacon towards him, altered the whole atmosphere around them as they stood in the train station. At this early hour it was not as busy as it usually would be but there were still plenty of people passing by, oblivious to this momentous reunion, unexpected on her behalf. The difference in their respective heights seemed more amplified than usual, and he remembered how much he liked the aspect.

"I…how did…" She stumbled over her words, switching directions at rapid speed before staying at stunned silence.

"I am aware that my appearance must appear surprising to you." He moved to fill in the void, though the lack of conversation did not feel – what was the most appropriate word to use in this situation? – _awkward_ to him.

"A little," she replied, curbing her natural curiosity, head tilting and eyes softening as they explored his facial features.

He would go into the finer detail later, as they sat on the bed of the cramped hotel room that she was calling home for the next week or so. In this very moment he found himself similarly lost for words as Miss Maximoff – _Wanda_ , he corrected himself inwardly to the term of address she preferred him to use – took her time in staring at him, the green of her irises sparking.

"I hope it is not disconcerting."

She shook her head softly, her vivid tresses wavering slightly. Then she stepped closer to him, which was quite enough for him to feel glad and something else besides. Though it was not logical to do so he had spent much of the last few weeks imagining how this meeting might transpire in his mind, most of the scenarios disastrous enough that they almost led him to discarding the plan altogether. He was partly responsible for the fate of all of the fugitive Avengers, but felt entirely at fault for that which had befallen Wanda. Perhaps it was down to their connection through the Mind Stone as well as the friendship they had formed.

 _A good friend was loyal, respectful of differences in opinion, honest, trustworthy._

He had much to do to improve in all of those respects.

"I didn't picture the blonde," she mimed the way his hair stuck up in little spikes with her fingers twirling in the air, absent of scarlet magic.

"I could say the same for your alteration."

She let out a melodic laugh. He wondered if his attempts at humour were more successful while he was occupying a human form.

"It was Nat's idea. She's blonde too, now, so she bought the dye for me. It came out redder than I expected."

She raked a hand the length of one side of her head, and he found himself mesmerised by the fluid movement of her fingers through her long hair.

"Given what I am, I don't think it is very…"

"Inconspicuous?"

She smiled, seeming to appreciate his suggestion.

"Yes, I think so. Your English is so much better than mine, Vizh."

He remembered playing Scrabble with her, amongst a variety of other games, at the compound. She insisted that he shouldn't let her win by giving her an easy time and playing down his natural instincts. He would always switch off his connection to JARVIS's memory banks for the duration of each game, wanting to play fair.

"There is that, but also I don't think it really suits me. I suppose that is the whole point of a disguise." She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. "I will be changing it again soon anyway."

"Oh, not too soon, I hope. I think you look beautiful."

The words left his mouth in a rush, before his systems could fully process their meaning.

"That is…I did not…if I've overstepped, please forgive me."

Her smile grew wider, cheeks glowing pink. "There's nothing to forgive."

Though she did not appear offended he still felt foolish at his outburst, too hot at the crown of his head. Despite the shame he moulded his mouth into a smile that mirrored her own.

"Why are you here?" It was the question he suspected she had wanted to ask initially, before they got sidetracked by superficial matters.

It was the question he had hoped fervently to avoid.

"Before I answer, Wanda, I must make clear that it is not my intention to capture you or expose your location in any way. I would never wish for any harm to come to you, no matter that we have apparently ended up on different sides."

He still harboured the hope that all of the Avengers could be united again, someday.

He noticed that she took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly before she spoke again.

"I know, Vizh. I trust you."

 _Trust_. The word became emblazoned within him, accompanied by all of its definitions.

To have someone place their trust in you was a very special, sacred thing, he had learnt that. To still have Wanda's trust, after everything that had occurred, was both unfathomable and wonderful.

"In the time that you and the others have been absent, I have found myself thinking a great deal…I knew from Mr Stark that Captain Rogers had infiltrated the Raft several weeks ago. I did not wish to compromise matters by seeking straightaway, but it had been on my mind, to find a way of reaching you."

Her mouth quirked. "There is one way you could have used."

He smiled as she referred to their mental link, strong enough to cross continents.

"I could have accessed your mind but it would not have felt right, after such an absence. And I also…I wished to see you in person, to know truly that you were well."

Her eyes appeared glossy, one hand balling up and shielding her mouth. Her silence allowed him to continue, though he longed to hear her affirm that which he hoped was true.

"In these months I have felt an…emptiness. Colonel Rhodes is very affable, and with Mr Stark there is a sense of duty. But I do not share the same level of bond with them as I do with you. We were considerably close as teammates and as friends, and I have felt the loss of your presence deeply."

There was an affinity he had with Wanda which he doubted very much could be replicated elsewhere.

She was quiet for a long time, staring at him with her expression half-hidden. If it was anyone else he would have been most uncomfortable at the silence and would have deigned to walk away, after apologising profusely.

In a moment that he could not have predicted in any of his imagined scenarios she charged forward, flinging her arms about his neck and pressing her petite frame to him. He had to focus all of his energies into maintaining his disguise and not phasing halfway through the floor in shock, at the same time as his hands held her in place.

"Oh, Vizh," she whispered, her breath delicate against his cheek and the scent she wore filling his senses. "I've missed you too."

She held onto him for some minutes and he relaxed against her as he stooped to be closer to her height, smiling over her shoulder.

Her eyes sought his when she pulled back, apparently not wanting to break their contact.

To see her so happy – so changed from the way she had been when he first saw her only minutes previously – brought an emotion that it would take him many years to accurately describe.

"Can you stay?"

He nodded, a precursor to a better answer. "I have been taking trips over the last two months. Mr Stark is aware that I go but he does not ask me questions. He assumes that I have a desire to learn about the world first-hand. He calls it 'experimenting'."

Wanda did not appear to be impressed with Mr Stark's terminology.

"I have not exceeded being away from the compound for more than three days, so I should stay within those limits."

"Three days it is," she replied, the smile still stretching her face. "I am new here too, so we can explore together."

He did not want to say anything further; he seemed to think that it would spoil the moment, interrupt the purity of the joy that she radiated.

A joy that he had appeared to have helped create.

She rocked forward on her toes, her body lurching towards him. His arms extended reflexively to catch her, though they were not needed.

"You have so many ideas in that incredible brain of yours. Where should we go first?"

Her eyes were wide and vivid. Looking into them caused a thousand distinct reactions to ignite within him, a thousand more stemming from each.

He was unsure that he could produce even the simplest of thoughts.

"Well," he stuttered, gaze fixed upon her eager smile, "there are several famous castles in Copenhagen. The nearest in proximity is Rosenborg Castle, so that might be a good place to start."

There was a bright flash upon her face that he glimpsed before a curtain of red fell in front of his eyes, her hand grasping onto his and pulling him along to follow in her hastened footsteps.

"Let's go and disappear."

Three days never went by so quickly; almost in the blink of an eye, though that made no possible sense.

He had to run to catch his train when they got back to the station, with Wanda's laughter trailing behind him, calling him to stay a little longer.

* * *

Some of the changes were obviously evident.

Her accent, which he had always found so enthralling, had disappeared almost entirely, replaced by the standardised American tones that also belonged to most of the other people he knew well or was acquainted with. It had been easier than any other for her to assimilate and it would not make her stand out, travelling the world as a _tourist_.

Though she had only one passport on her person at any one time she kept an assortment of aliases hidden in a drawer in each of the hotel rooms that she called a temporary home, sourced and sent to her by Miss Romanoff who advised Wanda to adopt a new one every three weeks or so. Not for every subsequent country she arrived in, as that was likely to arouse suspicion.

As with the other aspects of her appearance, the aliases were designed to be plain and unremarkable.

 _Rachel Woodson._

 _Alicia Morris._

 _Taylor Kennedy._

She dressed in muted colours – black, various greys and dark greens. Sometimes she would wear a hat, especially if in a colder climate, and on certain occasions sunglasses were required, not because of the glare of the sun but to shield the scarlet glow of her irises when she became particularly anxious about something around them. She followed all of Captain Rogers' instructions as they were sent to her and was extremely careful in where she went, keeping fast to the lesson Miss Romanoff had taught her, to _never stop looking over your shoulder._ However the world continued to turn with enough disregard for such measures, and certain situations could not be avoided.

She always evaded attention for longer than a few seconds, and when she was especially confident that there were enough distractions, sent out wisps of red darting from her fingertips into the air to ensure that they could pass by completely unnoticed.

He noticed too that she always wore a scarf, some thicker than others, again dependent on the temperature of wherever they happened to be. It took him three months of their secret meetings to be aware of the fact and he imagined that a great portion of his circuits must have been defective for him to not realise earlier. He knew enough about human interaction by now to know that it would be incredibly rude for him to plainly state the question, and while they had fallen back into the companionship that existed before the civil war between Mr Stark and Captain Rogers occurred far easier than he had ever expected there was a certain fragile tenderness between them that he did not wish to fracture with his social clumsiness.

After much internal deliberation he came to the conclusion that the best way to discover why Wanda had developed a sudden fondness for the accessory was to offer to purchase her a new one while they explored the markets of Marrakech. She rebuked him initially, with softness in her eyes even as her mouth twisted into a faint scowl, but soon accepted, perhaps to stop the trader watching them too closely. She kept hold of the silver silk – chosen so that it would match the rest of her clothes and keep her cover well – tight to her until they arrived back at the hotel. They returned to their separate rooms to unwind a little and change before going somewhere to eat that evening.

He was a little startled but happy when her knock fell upon his door, sooner than they had agreed to meet. She walked in without words, waiting until the door was secure behind them – ever vigilant – before passing the new scarf into his hands and raising her own to her neck.

Some of the scars had faded to white, showing themselves only in raised welts upon her skin. Others were darker, an almost blackened red, twining around her throat. She winced as her fingertips passed over them, her gaze directed away from his own. He could feel the shock and agonizing pain of the electric currents running through his own body as she described the collar that had been fastened tight enough to nearly stop breath, designed to make her powers and any attempt to fight back against the punishment meted out upon her ineffectual.

Emotions charged and warred within him, some that he could not pinpoint as they were too foreign. Others had become more familiar in the past few months, though not quite to such an intense degree as he tried to process Wanda's anguish and suffering.

 _Shame. Guilt. Regret. Rage._

Above all, he could not escape his culpability.

" _I am so sorry, Wanda. I am afraid I can never atone to the appropriate degree."_

 _She had shook her head and brought her hands to his face, human disguise still intact though he could not stop the glow of the Mind Stone from pulsating, the yellow turning almost deep orange as negative emotion overloaded him. The caresses of her fingertips soothed him somewhat, but he was unable to register the effect past the surface._

" _If you wish for me to leave, knowing my part in your torture, I will understand. I will go immediately."_

" _No, Vizh!" Her tone was insistent, verging upon desperate. Her palms pressed against him, one slipping down to the higher portion of his torso, where his synthetic heart beat an irregular rhythm. "Nothing of what happened was your fault. Nothing." Her voice became harder, defiant. "Do you understand?"_

 _He had to confess that he did not._

" _But I…the Accords…" He was faltering as he tried to speak, again having the feeling that he must be experiencing a key malfunction. Perhaps assuming this form for such lengthy periods was more adverse than he had first considered._

 _A smile stretched across her lips, and he found himself further confused._

" _These are only physical," she said, pointing again to the marks upon her otherwise flawless skin. "One or two might sting a little, but they do not hurt me like before. I am better now. They are healing. You understand that, yes?"_

" _Yes."_

" _And my mind is healing, too. I will not forget but the longer it has been, the better it gets." She smiled up at him and he felt calmer as he focused upon her eyes, seeing that there was nothing but peace within them, despite everything she had been through. "You're a big part of that, you know. Whenever you're with me, I feel better about everything. That the bad doesn't matter because there's so much good to be had. It sounds strange, I know."_

" _I understand," he answered her, his hand reaching to brush against her neck, his touch more careful than it had ever been. He felt her jump just perceptibly, although the smile remained on her face. "I feel that way too. I like being with you, Wanda, very much."_

" _Good," she exclaimed, her eyes brightening further, "because I like being with you very much too."_

She was exceptional at hiding in plain sight, covering all of her tracks. Being in her company meant that he did quite well at it too, the disguise he had adopted making it all the easier to blend in amongst the crowd. It was nice to not stand out, to be able to go to many of the places he had previously only read about without having a thousand pairs of eyes trained upon him, questioning why someone like him should even be there.

Castles and markets, museums and parks. He liked the zoo, though he felt a moral conflict at first about the question of keeping animals in captivity, until Wanda pointed out that a great deal of the species were endangered or hunted and it was the most humane way to ensure their protection. He also enjoyed the planetarium and the many art galleries they visited, always finding something to spark his imagination in the paintings and sculptures that lined the walls, depicting humanity at its most heroic and vulnerable.

Sometimes it was great enough that it made him physically shudder, and he had to place all of his focus on settling himself. To experience all of these wonderful places first-hand meant so much; he had never thought it would be possible. It made him feel truly human, which was the ultimate goal of his existence.

It made him feel more so to experience everything with Wanda by his side and to see the world through her eyes. Their minds were completely open to one another as they explored, slipping easily into each other's thoughts. He could sense that, as he was filled with wonder at seeing sights for the first time, Wanda was rediscovering her own joy. Many places were new to them both but in those that were not he could distinctly feel Wanda's memories as if they were his own, bursting to life again.

He learnt so much more about her. She loved rollercoasters, but steered clear of ghost rides. Her favourite season was Fall, no matter where they were in the world. She preferred savoury food to sweet, but had a particular liking for hot chocolate and toffee fudge flavoured ice-cream, which proved to be exceptions to the trend. Similarly she liked cats over dogs but would always bend down to stroke the head of a dog when it wandered over towards her, cooing over how aesthetically pleasing whatever breed it was.

She liked to explore as much as he did, but she was just as excited at being in a coffee shop or bookstore. In some cities they found the time to visit the library and she was almost giddy at the vast range of titles on offer. He too enjoyed the tangibility of the physical books, smiling whenever Wanda passed a volume into his hands and looked at him with light and hopeful eyes. She would always ask him to read to her, on the pretence that she would learn more about the language she was still a student of if she was the one listening. He didn't mind, however.

In fact it was probably his favourite thing to do, sitting with her close next to him – sometimes _very_ close – while he recited the words and phrases that had been laid down years or centuries previous.

He recalled from the times they had spent at the compound that Wanda was a tactile person, yet it took him by surprise how at ease she was in being physical with him. In their times reading together she would often rest her head upon his shoulder or put her hand on his bicep. One day when they were walking down a street in Germany, side by side, he felt her fingers fumbling against his own and he looked down to see her smiling up at him when she linked their hands tight. It gave him a rushing warm and pleasant feeling, cascading up and down his synthetic spine, bringing a similar smile to his face to have their palms pressed together.

From then on it became their natural way of walking. He liked holding her hand more than anything else.

"Look, Vizh," she murmured to him as they approached a row of little shops, set back from the main thoroughfare, "they serve cinnamon-flavoured hot chocolate in that coffee place."

He had already noticed how her face had brightened with excitement, but he had not known until now what had caused it.

"That sounds very appealing. For you, at least."

She dropped her voice lower. "Are you sure you can't try it out? It can't be much fun for you not knowing what things taste like."

"I suppose that I could, but I'm not sure that I would want to take the risk."

Her hand squeezed his lightly. "That's fair. I know that I couldn't take it if anything happened to you."

He gave her a reassuring and grateful smile. It made him quite dizzy to think about how much Wanda cared for him. He hoped that she knew that he reciprocated; his thoughts did not seem to do the strength of his feeling adequate justice.

They sat at one of the tables outside as it was a fine day, the canopy that hung over the shop's front ensuring they weren't exposed to potential prying eyes, and he watched with satisfaction as Wanda thoroughly enjoyed her cinnamon hot chocolate. The dusting of sugar that had sat on top had transferred itself to the tip of her nose, and she giggled as he pointed it out to her. Her laughter was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He felt rather shy in being the one to initiate their contact, stretching his arm across the small table. She took his hand immediately, beaming towards him, and he felt as though the sun itself was occupying his body.

The day was such a perfect one.

Her grasp upon him tightened and his defence mechanisms kicked in immediately, wary for any sign of threat that surrounded them. All of the other customers and passers-by looked perfectly normal, but whoever was in pursuit would not make themselves obvious.

His eyes searched Wanda's face frantically for the answer to whatever was wrong, and it became all too clear when they followed her gaze, landing upon a pair of young siblings – around the age of ten, if not a little younger – engaging in a happy game, laughing and chasing one another down the cobbled street.

He felt Wanda's grief wash over him in a flood, still so raw.

"Would you like to go back to the hotel?" he asked her gently, aware that she could tell he was on the edge of her mind.

"Yes," she said quietly, almost so quiet that he was unable to hear her, "yes, Vizh, I'd like that."

At the end of every trip it became harder for him to leave. The colour seemed to drain from the world when he was not around her, misery pervading his being. He would try to refrain from doing so, as he was aware that it was not an ideal way to live, but he could not stop himself from counting down the days until he would see her again. Sometimes it would be months instead of weeks, and those times were almost unendurable. He did what he could to mask his despondency, made himself busier at tasks that were in part somewhat pointless, yet he did not entirely avoid attention. Colonel Rhodes suggested that he watch football games on television with him, while Mr Stark's recommendations of how he might go about cheering himself up were rather more risqué.

Things were right again when he received a message from Wanda, earlier than expected. His smile was permanent as he went about putting a bag together, although most of the things he required had been ready to go for some time.

Wanda liked to stay out late. She said that they could make the most of things when it was dark, when there were less people around to notice them. That was the very factor that made him uneasy about being out of doors for too long once the night had descended. He would not drop his disguise anywhere other than being safely inside either one of their hotel rooms, no matter how much she tried to persuade him that they would be fine with the shadows of darkness to conceal them.

There were nights when he would indulge her, especially as he couldn't help himself from gazing at the stars when the skies were clear.

He quickly came to understand why she wished to prolong each evening, vivid memories of their time at the compound returning to him.

Her nightmares were worse now than they had ever been, exacerbated by the terror she had experienced at the Raft and the constant threat that came from having to keep running, never holding on to safety long enough for it to be a real comfort.

Her screaming echoed in his mind, nearly paralysing him with fear but at the same time his immediate urge was to placate her. Protect her from the demons that were intent on pursuing her.

He looked carefully down the corridors as he emerged from his room and being assured that there was nobody around to see him stayed in his true form and phased through the walls into her room. Flurries of vivid scarlet twisted, weaving an almost impenetrable web over where she slept fitfully, tossing and turning and doing her best to fight whatever foe faced her in the terrible dreams.

He was able to pierce through her chaotic magic, laying his hands tenderly upon her, rousing her gently from her tortured sleep.

"Wanda," he called her name low and soft, "it's alright. You're safe."

She groaned incoherently, her body twitching violently until she became more lucid and aware of his touch. He did not take his hands from her.

"I promise that you're completely safe."

Her words became clearer.

"Ne ydy," she said, her voice high and pleading, "ne pokyday mene."

He was able to understand her mother tongue in the space of a millisecond.

"I won't."

She rolled onto her back, her limbs calming, scarlet-tinged irises blinking up at him.

"Zalyshaysya tut."

He smiled, taking hold of her hand which was still shaking slightly.

"Of course."

She went back to sleep eventually, clutching onto his hand until she fell deeper into slumber.

He was sitting in the chair by her bedside when she woke, the sunlight heavy against the closed curtains. It took some time for her to come round completely, and he could see that she was a little confused to find him there, although she was smiling too.

Perhaps she had forgotten that she had even had the nightmare, as depleted as it had left her.

"Good morning, Wanda," he uttered softly.

"Vizh," she rasped, the sleep still evident in her voice, "what are you doing here?"

He couldn't help but smile at her, eyes fluttering and faint lines from the pillow marking her face.

"You may have forgotten that you had a distressing dream during the night," he explained, not wanting to remind her of the specifics. "I would have gone back to my own room, but I don't think…well, you asked me to stay, so I thought it wrong to break a promise."

"Oh, Vizh," she said, pulling herself up and smiling towards him. He tried not to linger on the fact that one of the straps of her vest top had fallen halfway down her shoulder. "It wouldn't have been breaking a promise. You must have been uncomfortable."

"I do not require the optimum conditions for resting," he reminded her gently, "I was perfectly fine."

 _I only wished to ensure that you were well_.

He thought that rather than saying it. He was not sure why exactly, given that his mind was open to her in that moment, as it so often was.

She adjusted the sheets, bringing them further up around her.

"Well, I'm glad," she chimed, fixing the strap back into its place. "And I'm glad that you stayed too." She yawned and stretched while he watched her, rather fascinated by the little rituals that occurred after humans woke. "Shall we have breakfast?"

He smiled towards her. "You certainly can, if that is what you wish."

* * *

If he had caught an earlier train then it all would have been avoided.

He was three stops away from Kings Cross station when the train came to an unexpected halt. The overhead lights flickered off and on and back off again, announcing that the vehicle was temporarily out of service, and then minutes later the voice of the driver sounded upon the tannoy system. He bid that all passengers remain calm and that the measures were being taken as a precaution, nothing more.

There was the fact that his hearing was quite specifically attuned, but surely he was not alone amongst his fellow passengers in denoting the shakiness of the driver's tone.

The longer the hold-up continued, the more widespread the quiet panic became amidst those on board. Whispers circulated that Carriage D was to be avoided; someone had a bomb and was threatening to detonate it within the next five minutes. People had tried to traverse into said carriage, but were quickly told to remain in their seats for their own safety and that the police were dealing with the situation.

Shouting could be heard in one moment, reducing in the moments that followed. It was a pattern that repeated itself in approximations of every four minutes or so, for a solid sixty eight seconds, for at least forty seven minutes.

He felt wrongly ineffectual as he stayed in his seat, three rows down from the door at the front of Carriage B, staring out of the window that was directly situated at his shoulder. He could have intervened; indeed, it was what he was designed for, protecting humanity at large. By sitting there and doing nothing he was adding to the risk when he had the power to eradicate it completely.

As it was there was only one chain of cause and effect that lingered in his mind. If he was to involve himself it would require him to reveal his true self – not only as a synthezoid, but an Avenger also. One Avenger being located in London would mean that others were not too far away. He could never put Wanda at risk, not when her position was so sensitive, and not when he had contributed too much already to her current status.

It was something he would ruminate upon for some time afterwards; that he had little hesitation in choosing between Wanda and hundreds of others, including himself.

He recognised that it had gone far past a mere _distraction_.

It was to protect Wanda that he also terminated the link between their minds for the time he was in stasis, closing off his own to any incomers. For all he knew the terrorist in question might have been as other as himself. Any sign that he was anything more than completely mundane could put him – and her, at her relatively short distance – at great danger.

The situation was brought to a thankfully fatality-free conclusion an hour and thirty three minutes after it had begun, although it had felt much longer. All trains that were bound for Kings Cross were being redirected to Waterloo, Euston and Victoria; his impatience increased with the addition of minutes onto his journey, an almost physical itching beneath the surface of his skin.

When enough time and distance had passed that safety could be guaranteed he opened his mind once more, instantly bombarded by the volume of incoming messages. The intensity of feeling increased steadily as he absorbed one after the other, his own anxiety multiplying with the worry and dread that was implicit in every thought that Wanda had sent.

He would still need to catch at least two underground trains before he was in close enough proximity to the hotel she was staying in, but he could not wait longer to let her know that he had been out of harm's way all along. He took a turn down a deserted side street ten minutes away from Victoria, and ensconced himself in a doorway that appeared to be not in use.

 _Wanda, I am well and unharmed. Please do not fret for my condition. I am still some distance from where you are, but I will be as fast as the connections allow._

Before he could leave for Charing Cross – before he could take yet two steps from the doorway – he received another message.

 _Come as quickly as you can._

Quickly followed by another.

 _Please, Vizh._

He detected the alarm that was still apparent in her thinking, and it disturbed him greatly. Something was very wrong, though he knew not what. Wanda's mind was too distorted for him to be able to decipher it properly.

It was out of deep concern for her, certainly of no regard for himself, that he took the decision to drop his disguise and take flight. He was aided by the fact it was quiet and the sky was almost all cloud, meaning that he could soar high without the threat of being identified from the ground.

As he got nearer to the hotel, accelerating at speed, he got another message from Wanda.

 _Come in by the window. I'm room 712._

He wanted to question why, thinking surely it would be safer for him to assume his human form once more, but he did not wish to distress Wanda any further. The closer he came, her torment radiated, affecting his own clarity of thought.

The large window that backed onto her room was fully visible, giving him the true indication of the cause of such agitation in her before he phased through the glass, feet landing upon one of the few clear patches of floor left.

An aura persisted around Wanda where she stood, her shoulders hunched. Tendrils of scarlet whirled around her fingertips, unable to cease even as he came nearer.

"Vision!" she shrieked, swiftly bringing both hands behind her back. Her eyes were wild, similarly aflame with red. "Don't come any nearer, please."

"Wanda, I – "

"Please!" Her voice was trembling, frightened in a way that he had never heard it. "I don't know that...it stopped, but I don't know what I'm capable of. I don't want to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me."

He smiled, aiming to counterbalance the frown that marred her features, maintaining the expression while she shook her head, stepping further back, appearing not to care about the debris that was scattered over the floor.

He could detect the shards of broken glass which she was dangerously close to treading upon, and surged forward to halt her path.

"Vizh!" she exclaimed, her words stolen as he took hold of her hands.

Her gaze shot from his own to their hands, his covering hers momentarily. He gradually unveiled hers to the light, without completely letting go. The scarlet sparks shrunk smaller and smaller upon the tips of her fingers, disappearing as he stayed holding on to her hands, rubbing small circles over her knuckles with his thumbs.

He felt her mind more clearly, the static lifting and her voice, lying within, calling out to him in wonder.

"Tell me what happened."

She took the time to regulate her breathing before she spoke again, her eyes looking back into his.

"It was quarter to twelve, I was getting something to drink…one moment it was fine, and then I couldn't feel you. I knew something was wrong. And then I found it hard to breathe, I could feel myself spiraling."

Pain arrowed itself in his chest. He had stopped thinking of the sensation as illogical, so often did it occur.

"It was bubbling up within me, wanting to escape," he felt her fingers twitch beneath his own, recalling the starting of the chaos, "I got out before anything could happen, got back here as fast as I could."

"That's good," he uttered, hoping to reassure her.

She inhaled sharply, grimacing as if in physical pain.

"I shut the door and it wouldn't hold any longer." She nodded her head slightly to the scene about them, a strange noise escaping from the back of her throat. "Vizh, what have I done?"

" _Wanda_ ," he cradled her hands in the space between them, his eyes roaming her desperately sad and yet still beautiful face. "This is not your fault. If anything…I did not wish to cause you any unnecessary worry, but I realise that it was wrong for me to sever our link. I'm sorry, I should not have done so."

"This isn't you, Vizh. You didn't do _this_." She remained holding on but broke their eye contact by looking down, and he felt a loss as well as a compulsion to keep her close and comforted. "I thought I could control it now. I've tried so hard…"

"I know, and you _can_."

 _Don't be afraid_ , he sent the thought out amplified. He held onto her hands tighter, pressed the tips of his fingers against hers, coaxing the destructive magic to come forth and do its worst, destroy him if it wished. There was nothing, no jolt or shock that sent him to his knees.

 _I'm not. You can't possibly hurt me. You won't hurt anyone else, either._

"I wish that I could go back," she uttered, her voice a low whisper, "I would run, so far away that they would not get to me."

Her anguish fought hard against the serenity that he sent towards her, but he would not stop.

"Your powers are a part of you, that is inescapable." Her gaze darted up, flashing fearfully to his. "But they do not _define_ you. You are so much more, Wanda."

So many things that he could not begin to try and explain, only be in eternal awe at.

She grasped his hands tight, enough to cause pain if he was human but he was able to withstand it easily.

"It should have been me, not Pietro." Even in her distress, her words were resolute. "Every day, every hour I think so. He could save people with his powers. I do nothing except destroy."

It appeared that he was wrong; she did have the ability to hurt him, quite deeply.

He wanted so much to take away her pain and grief and self-loathing, which wounded him to the core of his being. He had told her in a time that felt very long ago that he wished for the world to see her as he did, and the desire remained a true one. Yet he realised that more than anything he wanted the impact to be felt on a scale that was not so extensive.

He wanted her to see for herself all that he believed she was capable of, everything that she already was.

His words and thoughts had not enough effect, his need to soothe and strengthen her the only thing that mattered to him. So he needed to do something else to convey all of what he felt.

He slowly raised their joined hands to his mouth, uncovering hers, her pale skin radiant even as the light had been banished from the room by the shut curtains, providing a contrast to the burgundy shade of his own. His lips brushed lightly at first, giving her the chance to pull away if that was what she wished – he had been unusually spontaneous in his actions.

When she did not wrench from his grasp he grew in confidence, pressing kisses to the curve of her thumbs and below each knuckle, one hand and then the other. Reverence was what he felt and what he wished to convey to her; deep admiration and emotion that he could not put into words. She was incredible, every atom and molecule of her, and if she was certain of nothing else in her lifetime he wanted her to always be sure of this fact, his unwavering belief in and _devotion_ towards her.

He could not seem to stop what he had started, kissing every inch of her skin. He turned over her palms so they faced upwards, tracing the arch of her hands, his eyes fixed upon hers until he laid two kisses in the centre of each.

He was not embarrassed at the length of time he spent in doing so, but was mindful that Wanda perhaps thought differently. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated as she stared up at him.

"I am…" He stopped himself before he could apologise for his actions, as he did not feel regret for doing what he had. "Do you feel better?"

She nodded, remaining silent and still looking intently at him, which made him feel a certain kind of pride. He perceived the calmness of her mind, still as an ocean in its quietest hour, and felt greatly accomplished.

"I am glad," he smiled, lowering their joined hands and loosening the twine of their fingers.

Now that her sadness had been relieved he was compelled to put himself to another use. The room could not be completely restored – certainly he could not fix the items that had been broken – but he could go some way to making it appear tidier.

He would not have Wanda be blamed in any way, when she had not been in control of her actions.

His intention was to move, but Wanda would not let go of his hand.

"Vision," she uttered his name in a quiet breath.

"Yes, Wanda?"

He watched her closely as she stepped towards him, her eyes examining his face. Sight was not enough for her after some seconds. She reached her hand upwards and it was strange; he could sense the brush of her fingertips before she skimmed them over him, first touching the jewel that was embedded in his forehead gently – perhaps the word _cautious_ was more accurate in this instance. A stuttering, juddering sensation built within him as she traced her hand to his temple, down the vibranium that cased the side of his head and then his cheek, her touch becoming gradually more assured.

Her thumb pressed against his jaw, her eyes gleaming green and her breath warm as she craned onto the tips of her toes, coming nearer and nearer.

Her lips tasted sweet against his, slightly roughened – she had bitten into the skin, he assumed a product of her anxiety. They were warm and pliable, moulding to his mouth more as the seconds passed. He was taken by surprise, in the most pleasant of ways, and it took him a few seconds longer to react fully, kissing her back. In his defence, he had never done this before and he was not expecting to do so so soon.

She pulled away before he could properly relish the sensation, her hand lingering longer upon his face before that fell too.

"I…sorry," she stumbled over her words, "I don't know what came over me."

"There is no need to apologise." It felt like a fire had burst within his chest.

"I mean, I _know_ , but that was…I should have given you warning, Vizh."

He could not help but smile at her, his mind and all the systems in his synthetic body experiencing reverberation. "I did not mind. I enjoyed the spontaneity."

A smile broke over her face. "I'm relieved. And glad you don't think bad of me."

"I could never do that, Wanda."

There was a beautiful glow in her eyes, and yet his gaze dropped to her lips, keen to feel them upon his once more.

"I feel so safe with you, Vizh. So calm. I can't do for myself what you do for me. How you make me feel."

He felt such happiness at her words that he could barely contain it, a feeling that was very unlike anything he had encountered previously.

Her thoughts further elevated him as she sent them with an incredible force.

 _I was so alone, so lost. I don't feel that any more, not since you came and rescued me again._

 _Thank you._

"Oh, you don't need to thank me," he said, answering the words she had left unspoken.

She smiled again; her smile was a source of energy for him, as well as being something of great beauty.

"I feel like I should, all the same." She raised her hand again, this time placing it upon his torso. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything," he answered her.

Her eyes and lips met in harmony as they were sparked by the same smile. "I have wanted to do that for a long time."

" _Oh_ ," he murmured, feeling overwhelmed by her admission and all the more so as her fingers started to make their way higher over him. "I confess that I have, too."

She smiled wide, nudging her nose against his. "I wish that it hadn't taken us so long."

"Many of the circumstances were unavoidable."

He liked feeling her so close, her palms pressed against him; one upon his chest, the other at the back of his head.

"What is the saying?" she uttered, her lips tantalisingly close within reach, " _good things_ …"

"… _come to those who wait_ ," he finished for her.

He thought about how he had not had to do that, at least not at first. She was the first person he had laid eyes upon, the first person whom he had sensed before he had even awoken. Indeed, it seemed to be that she had always been a part of him, their powers stemming from the same source.

Now, things were different. He spent his existence waiting, for another destination, for word that it was safe to visit her.

This time he met her halfway, placing both hands instinctively upon her waist, thinking of nothing else but her mouth against his and how completely wonderful that was.

He could have spent hours kissing her, happy and hazy in the knowledge that she shared the sentiment, if only there were not other matters to attend to.

"What are we going to do?" she said after they had broke apart with some reluctance, "I don't have the money for anywhere else."

It was a problem that had a simple enough solution to him. "Mr Stark supplied me with a card. I have had no other reason to use it aside from my travel costs, and they have been quite frugal."

Her eyes widened. "Vizh, I can't ask that of you. That's your money. Besides, I don't think _Mr Stark_ would be too happy to know that you were spending it on me."

It was entirely logical to him. Despite everything that had happened, and everything that she imagined, he knew that Mr Stark did not think ill of Wanda. Even if he did, it would not have been of importance. He did not wish to spend the funds in any other way.

"We can say that someone else must have acquired a key to your room."

"Vizh," she smiled, "you are becoming too crafty."

He smiled back at her, feeling a little self-conscious but not enough that it mattered.

"We can tidy up first."

"Good idea," she replied, a ball of red forming in her hands.

Where once there had been chaos, now there was order. The two did not exist in isolation.

They did the job together, smiling at their work and kissing contentedly - for quite a long amount of time - once it was done. He transformed again into his human disguise, to Wanda's chagrin, and they went on their way, apologising for the breakages which were not their fault.

As they left in search of another hotel, walking down the London streets hand in hand, it occurred to him.

Everything had changed.

In the same breath and thought, however, nothing had at all.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm basing Sokovian on Ukrainian, based on it being a former Soviet Union country with a significant Jewish population. I don't know that I place much faith in Google Translate, but it's all I have.**

 **Translations:**

 **ne ydy = do not go**

 **ne pokyday mene = do not leave me**

 **zalyshaysya tut = stay here**

 **[I have a second part to this in mind - let's hope I can get it written before _Endgame_ is released (yikes).]**


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